Heritage of Flight (7 page)

"Will you accept posting?” the marshal asked finally.

With the Secessionists busy grabbing planets, and Becker claiming a sector governorship, Borodin either accepted this assignment or boarded
Amherst
a prisoner, to face charges of sedition or mutiny (since Becker had been in command since planetfall) on the first world where the
Amherst
made planetfall. New Pax, probably. They were strict about such things on New Pax.

"I must accept,” said Borodin. “But I repeat: you're taking me off my ship. So I think that means you owe me more than ‘theirs was not to reason why,’ Marshal."

"Captain Borodin, you saw it during landing,” said Becker. Pauli gasped at the cruel logic of the statement, and Borodin stepped back a step. “Your reflexes are down; it almost cost us our lives. All right, maybe that was Jump stress, especially that last Jump. And maybe, once you rested up on New Pax, you could scrape past your proficiency tests. This year. But what about next? And what about your first scramble with a Secess’ that wasn't on the run? What if you didn't hit weapons or Jump fast enough, or were slow at the helm that time too? We'd be out one very expensive ship and its expensively trained crew. And those are getting to be scarce commodities."

Borodin shook his head, his eyes going from Becker to the clean new domes to the sleek hull of
Amherst
with the desperation of a creature who sees the shimmer of a forcefield between himself and freedom. Then he looked at Pauli and gathered himself up to argue further.

"You think that the war's not going to end soon. Our briefings say otherwise."

Becker snorted. “Why else do you suppose I got authority for Seedcorn? Ordinarily—and if I thought this was an ordinary time, I'd have proposed it myself—I'd intern these people. Maybe they could have been set down on Marduk's World. The whole southern continent's been turned into a hospital to tend the survivors of that first raid ... and their children. Whatever they'll grow up like."

Standing with the other civilians, one hand resting on the shoulder of a young girl with the eyes of an old woman, Dr. Alicia Pryor winced. Marduk's World had been hit by old-style atomics; the southern continent was the only part of it that had not been struck by blizzards, a winter that might last for years and had already devastated its biosphere. That was no sort of internment camp for these children; and Becker knew it.

"I wouldn't send these children to Marduk's World,” he continued. “Even if we win, we're not going to be able to count on having an undamaged gene pool to come home to. Did it ever occur to you, Captain, that—war or no war—we may all be defective in some way or other? Since the Earth blockade, how can we even be sure what's standard human anymore? Do you know what pure human stock is? This world's listed as .8 G. Feels good, doesn't it: after acceleration or zero-grav? But have you ever been on a perfect one G?"

Borodin grimaced.

"Look, man, I'm not retiring you. I need you and your skills—your command skills—here. Turn the bridge over to a younger pilot."

"A younger pilot,” repeated Borodin. “What about Yeager? Why does she have to remain here? Dammed, man, she's service to the core. Her family's been service for generations. And she lives for flying."

Becker glanced at Pauli, and shook his head, his lips thin. She had the idea that he saw more than the thin, short-haired woman who watched him out of eyes that burned with lack of sleep and now, soon, lack of a future. “Yeager's got more potential than pilot's training knows how to exploit. Project Seedcorn needs that potential, her reflexes, her flair for math and spatial relationships, her heredity and health, more than we do another pilot. Especially when
Amherst
won't have ships for them all after this last refit. Even if we take all the riders with us.” He added that last almost reluctantly.

"You aren't leaving us a single ship?” Borodin did explode that time. It was better than begging.

"I cannot,” said Becker. “You know how much
Amherst
needs equipment. And besides, sensors can track a ridership capable of Jump. Be reasonable, man!"

He gestured Borodin away from the civilians. He followed, Pauli following him, appalled into at least temporary obedience.

"Look, Captain, I have to have people I can trust overseeing these settlers. Look at them, will you? Alicia Pryor may be fine as a chief medic, but the rest of them—aren't they as unlikely a crew to represent Alliance government as you'd ever want to meet? You heard that chatter about the domes, didn't you? That xenobotanist—Angelou, or whatever her name is—didn't want to tamper with the ecosystem, did she? When it gets cold, will she allow the civs to build fires, or weep about the trees?"

Against his will, Borodin had chuckled sardonically. “No. We're going to win this war. And someone—not me, perhaps, but someone—is going to come back and pick up these refugees. They're our future. So we have to leave them with people we can trust. Which is why you're staying here, Captain. You have full military authority, including the authority to decide whether or not they get to hold elections."

"But Yeager?” Borodin protested as if he led a suicide flight.

"Yeager stays. Even though I can't leave you a ship, she stays. She's command track, unlike the other officers here; and I saw her with the kids. They like her, and she's good with them. Even while we were offloading, she made time to talk with them. So I checked personnel files."

Borodin grimaced, his eyes old and bitter. “Those records should have been classified."

Becker shrugged. “Yeager is the most flexible of the pilots you have left. You may need her here; and Seedcorn certainly does. I'm sorry, Captain. I'd like your consent. But I'll have to demand your obedience. I'm shifting command to Banez. She has orders to lift the instant the
Amherst
is operational."

And that, Pauli thought in despair, was that. Becker started to walk away, and ‘Cilla, the child with the ancient eyes, danced up to her, then backed off, thin hands covering her mouth. The child was preternaturally sensitive, Pauli thought. A survival mechanism, perhaps? Her too-big eyes filled—
for my pain?
Pauli wondered—and she ran away to hide her face against Rafe Adams’ leg.

"Just a moment, Marshal,” called Borodin, his voice rigidly controlled.

"Yes?” Becker's voice iced.

"Your ... cohorts. The other marshals on board
Amherst.
Send them with Banez too."

"I had planned to assign several of them here, to assist you."

"Dammit,” roared Borodin, “you've assisted me out of a job, and one of the best pilots I've ever helped train out of a future. I don't need them, man. I don't want them interfering. If they stay here, God knows what sort of sealed, imbecilic orders they will produce to tie my hands with. God may know; I don't want to deal with it."

"Captain,” said Becker, his thin face twisting with what Pauli realized was genuine distress, “we can talk about this when you are less—"

"We are talking about it now! Either I am in command, or I am not. If I am not, let me know that now; and I'll resign my commission right now and ask to be repatriated, either at home or here on Cynthia. If I am truly in charge here, then I tell you frankly, I will not have your precious marshals threatening to pull new sealed orders out of their sleeves every time I make a command decision. Now, which is it?"

"You are in command, sir,” said Becker. Unwillingly he grinned. “And there will be a few of my colleagues who will thank God that you have taken such a hard line. No marshals: you're on your own. Will that content you?” Abruptly his voice went from ironic to imperious.

"It must,” said Captain Borodin.

The marshal nodded and turned away. His footsteps crunched away toward the ship, the ship that was no longer Pauli's or the captain's.

Well, have you the guts to face him?
Sarcasm lashed her forward to meet the captain's eyes.

"I tried,” he told her. And then, to her horror, “I should say I'm sorry. But you, at least, will have a chance to live."

If she didn't walk away now, she'd break. “I know you tried, sir,” she tried to sound confident. “So it's TDY again, isn't it? Just this time, it's not all that temporary."

In the days remaining before Commander, now Captain, Banez took
Amherst
away, they helped unload the supplies that must suffice until the colony became independent. Food concentrates for several years. With luck, they would be growing their own crops before the concentrates ran out. Without luck ... colonies had starved before, even on the same world as their founding nation. A limited number of hydro canisters and chemical tanks. They'd all have to turn dirt farmer! Pauli shook her head, appalled, and stared venomously at Becker, who had lugged his own share of the burdens. He straightened up, rubbing hands that had blistered very satisfactorily. She hoped they turned infected on him.

Undamaged genes ... racial survival, my ass!
she grumbled silently. Piece by piece, the settlement took shape.

The evening that the
Amherst
departed, Rafe finally walked over to talk with her. Couldn't he see that she had managed to avoid him since planetfall, that she wanted it that way? Probably he could. Perhaps that was why he had brought the captain with him.

"Pauli, can I talk with you?"

"You're talking,” she said. Rafe would probably like it here. That was part of what made her so angry at him. Despite his commission, he was a xenobiologist, and xenos were practically civilians themselves. Like the anthro officer Ro Economus, whom Becker had also marooned here. She'd signed up for the service late. But that wasn't all that explained why, at age thirty, she was still an ensign. Even grounded, however, Rafe and Economus could still do the work they'd joined the service for while she ... Pauli avoided looking at Rafe: tanned, the weathering carefully maintained under ship's UVs, reddish hair, rangy strength. He was lantern-jawed, pleasantly homely. So all right, pilot wisdom decreed that the pilot who got involved with anyone but a pilot was a fool. Rafe had hoped to move into explorations; and that had been Pauli's first choice too. So Pauli had thought things safe enough to plan and to dare have other hopes. And on the strength of them, she'd made plans for a different future, a future so warm and venturesome that even a fighter seemed dull in contrast. As the pilots said, a pilot who got involved with anyone else was a fool.

That went double for her.

Adams glanced desperately at Captain Borodin.

"Alone, if you will pardon us, sir?"

"What's to say, Rafe?” Pauli asked, saying it. “All my life, I trained to be a pilot: some kind of pilot, in any case; and now I'm grounded.
You
still get to be an xenobiologist, but what am I? An ex-flier with great genes. Leave me alone, can't you?"

Borodin jerked his chin at Adams, enforcing the suggestion. Reluctantly the lieutenant left.

Pauli headed farther away from the settlement, tramping down the underbrush, wishing it were Becker she stamped underfoot. Damn the man: if his conviction hadn't carried the ring of an obsession, she might have found herself respecting him. He might have interned the refugees, until isolation and hopelessness honed their fear and anger to such an edge that they could be used for shock troops; yet he had not. They were seedcorn, and must be guarded, not expended, so they might be harvested.

The sky looked very clear tonight. She remembered her last flight, the last one she would ever have, she supposed, how she felt as if she were the ship itself, her arms outstretched to balance and protect it against the buffeting of treacherous downdrafts or wind shear. At least she had one last exhilarating flight, she supposed. She hunched down, watching the ship, as the last loads were dumped a safe distance outside and the crew then withdrew, to seal themselves into the ship and prepare for liftoff.

By the time anyone came—
if
anyone came—to retrieve them, she would probably be too old to fly ever again.

Liftoff came promptly at 19:00. They had backed off to a safe distance and paired the refugee children each with an adult who would be sympathetic or firm, as needed. Smoke rose about the
Amherst
as the charred ground cover smoldered anew. Then, slowly, the ship rose, gained altitude, and then arced up, leaving only a burned-off field and a shriek of sound, like castoffs, behind. Pauli stared at the sky until the
Amherst's
trail faded into the sunset. She was not the only one.

Gradually the night wind dispersed it, and two of the civs started building a fire. No one suggested breaking out the heatcubes that Becker, guilty at the last moment, had left behind.
Probably they don't want to waste power. Against their ethic, or something,
Pauli thought mordantly. Still they had to have light.

She thought back to some of the psych briefings she had endured since her assignment had become generally known. The children, ‘Cilla especially, feared the dark. ‘Cilla ... they had found her in the wreckage of Wolf IV's scout base Gamma along with her brother Lohr and a boy named Washington. ‘Cilla and Washington still winced at sudden noises. Lohr, though, around twelve years old, and with a dark, clever face, was moody. Pauli remembered that one. Whenever he was around, she had a hand on her sidearm, and had a pilot's wariness—around a child, for God's sake!

For now, however, Lohr was no problem. He had stared all that day at Captain Borodin until the captain, kind by nature and necessity, had beckoned him over. Lohr gestured excitedly, miming what Pauli realized were air currents. Now they were deep in talk.